


Invitation

by Keystoffees



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, Sherlock (TV) RPF
Genre: Book smut, Castle Carlton, F/M, Library, Library Sex, Lord Cumberbatch of London, Suit, Wilkins, cumbersmut, parquet flooring, silk dress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 07:16:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2539058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keystoffees/pseuds/Keystoffees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr prompt: </p><p>His Lordship likes to show you round his castle and then fuck you in the library.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Invitation

'Lord Cumberbatch of London cordially invites you to dine with him in his private residence at Castle Carlton.

Dress code: formal'

You turn over the thick card to see a barely legible scrawl, accompanied by something resembling a plus sign. 'Please refrain from wearing underwear.'

 

The gravel crunches under foot and you teeter briefly on your heels before you reach up to pull the old servants' bell next to the enormous, solid wooden doors. 

It is opened by Wilkins, faithful assistant and would-be butler. If people actually had butlers, you smirk to yourself. He smiles warmly, takes your jacket, and shows you to Benedict's drawing room, gesturing for you to take a seat. You wiggle your toes inside your expensive shoes, wishing you'd worn them in for a little longer. Or maybe you could just kick them off until he comes down, you think, as you slide your bare feet out in front of you on the cool parquet floor. 

"Make yourself at home." 

A deep chuckle behind you startles you and you turn to see him, black Spencer Hart suit jacket unbuttoned, black tie loosely hanging around unfastened shirt collar. 

"Don't bother to finish dressing," you grin back, standing and smoothing down your silk dress.

He holds his hand out, waiting for you to take it, which you do, letting its enormous expanse of warm, soft skin cover your own. He smells freshly showered and still looks a little flushed. 

"A tour of my castle before we eat?" He asks, curling his lips to one side. You nod in agreement, turning back to your shoes, but he pulls you in close and whispers in your ear, "you won't need them."

You follow him, still holding his hand, through the vast galleried hallway, looking up at the huge staircase and its works of art - some historical, some modern. You are about to ask a question about a particularly interesting looking vase, when he pushes against a large oak panelled door and whisks you through, spinning you round and momentarily disorientating you. 

"Welcome to my library," he says, as he steadies you by placing his large hands on each side of your body, wrapping his fingers around your hips. His fingers slide against the silk material of your dress, lifting it slightly. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Please," You say, watching him turn to his left and pour two tumblers of expensive-looking whiskey from an antique decanter. 

He eyes you confidently as he takes a sip. You draw the amber liquid into your mouth and savour the burn as it hits your lips first, then the back of your tongue and throat as it slips down easily. You place the crystal glass down on the table next to him.

His hands suddenly appear at your waist again, and this time he makes no secret of the fact he is scrunching the material under his fingers, gathering it at your hips with his long, nimble fingers. Taking a step, he uses your movement to guide you further backwards, until your back connects with a bookshelf. You turn your head to the side to glance at the objects behind you, just as his plump lips connect with your neck.

You gasp as he holds his mouth on your skin, breathing in your scent from his position at the edge of your jaw, behind your ear, on your hairline. He inhales again, and you feel the slightest sensation of his tongue, before he withdraws and you turn your head slowly back to him.

Your eyes meet and you flash your acceptance to him, searching his for emotion. You find it; adoration, respect, humour and overwhelming desire, all in those blue-green irises, in this dimly lit, wood panneled library.

His lips crash onto yours, seeking desperately to gain entrance, while you simultaneously melt with your own longing and catch up with his actions. You open your mouth, inviting him in and tasting him for yourself.

As you stand on tiptoes to reach him, you feel one of his hands slide from its position on your middle... up... coasting over your breast and pushing your arm up and over your head. His mouth leaves yours and he quickly kisses down your collar bone, pulling gently with his teeth at the silk that covers your breast, nose rubbing at the stiff peak formed by your nipple as it pushes against your dress. 

His other hand pulls at the billowing material of the skirt of your dress, drawing it up to your waist, exposing your legs, and he groans darkly as he stops and looks down at you for a second, his eyes lingering over your sex as you feel the pooling of your arousal there.

You catch his eyes again as they move back to your face and you open your legs slightly. He grins, looking boyish for a split second, before the carnal determination returns to his expression and he grasps your bottom with both hands, lifting you a couple of inches off the ground. You rest against a shelf and you're not sure whether it is him holding you up, or the books. 

He buries his head between your breasts and pins you against the bookshelf while he deftly unzips and lowers his trousers. He grunts tiny, appreciate noises while his tongue flicks at your silk dress, leaving small damp patches over your nipples. He holds your arm above your head again and you stretch the other one out across the books, searching for another ledge to hold on to.

Kissing you softly, gently on the lips, he slides his length inside you and you gasp as you become accustomed to his size. He stills, waiting a couple of heartbeats, listening to your rapid breaths, before he bites gently on your bottom lip and you feel him smile against you.

Thrusting gently at first, he curls a hand around to the small of your back, holding you there and continuing to pin you against the books as he picks up his pace. You bite back, sucking on his lips, revelling in the feeling of his teeth as they occasionally crash against yours. 

His hips rock into you as he releases the hand he was holding above you. You grasp the back of his head, urging him on, fisting your fingers into his short hair, pulling what little of it you can gain purchase on. He moans loudly into your mouth and you echo him. Neither of you care where Wilkins is now and whether he can hear you.

His thrusts become harder and with each one he grinds against your pubic bone, making sure you get the friction you desperately need against your clit. He fills you with every deep push, flexing his hips and panting into your ear, crushing his mouth against your jawbone, leaving a wet stripe across your cheek as he begins to lose control.

You feel the tightening in your stomach, the nerve endings tingle and your breath begin to falter as you fall closer and closer to the edge with him. He gathers you up, holding you in both arms now, hands clenched tightly around your bottom as you rock against him as fast as he thrusts into you. You are both shouting now; nonsense, empty noises as you become one for a moment of complete surrender.

His thrusts lose their rhythm and he slams hard into you as he comes, panting and nipping at your skin with his teeth as he shakes with the force of his release. You are overcome with wave and indescribable wave of pleasure as your own orgasm overtakes you. You cling to his shoulders and he carries your weight easily, pressing you back against the shelf once again while you both recover the use of your limbs, tiny thrusts still rocking both of you as you continue to climax together. 

He sets you gently back down, watching as your toes touch the floor and your dress falls easily down to skim them. He helps you smooth out the creases and adjusts himself; fastening his trousers, then his previously forgotten shirt buttons. He cups your face in his hand and searches your eyes again.

"Hungry?" he asks.


End file.
